PolitiKill is a song about eating fascists for dinner. It comes complete with whistles, solos, and an earthy, twangy guitar sound.


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Artist/Composer: Richard O
Keywords: Political; Politikill; Folk; Fascists; Eating Facists for dinner; Twangy Guitar

Creative Commons license: Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike

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Reviewer: Richard O - - April 4, 2006
Subject: lyrics
PolitiKill

one, two, three makes four, write that fascist right outta the door.
five-six-seven, eight and nine, have a side of fascist with your white wine
and write a politikill song.

lop off the heads of who we hate, parliamentarian, magistrate.
president, president, it's a name of a cheese, it's a name of a cheese
and eat my politikill song.

write about the words growin' in my head.
write about the fascists 'till they all are dead
steak and fries and a side of meat, make mine fascist
even though I don't eat meat
while I write my politikill song.

overgrown, overgrown, we got words, we got words and governments overthrown.
a feast of fascists, if you please.
pass the mustard, pass the peas.
and sing a politikill song.

one, two, three makes four, write that fascist right outta the door.
five-six-seven, eight and nine, have a side of fascist with your white wine
and write a politikill song.

Classified

sing gonna ring gonna sing my song
gonna sing gonna work and sing and work all day long
if I can all day long.
sing this song loud so you can tell, it's a workin' hell.

sing your factories of cumperton steel, dividing up the labor
and making them feel like you feel.
like I feel that you feel.
Like a sharp kick in the balls when high and dry in a workin' hell

woke up to the fatter of the news today,
a thousand million working people walking away from work
and their bills to pay.
a workin' hell like this can't get out in the news today.

ninety-five, ninety-five and two cents more, used to work for pay
now you pay to work for no more than dust on the floor.
but you pick up your workin' hell and go back again.

sing a little wing about anakin, gonna sing gonna ring
get out star wars and bring the death star down
to that star we'll sing our song of this workin' hell.

classified ad runnin through my mind, overtime, part-time
ain't got no time at all to be human any more
and human words just don't help out in this workin' hell.

underworked, overpaid managerial aid seeks overworked underpaid
maybe something like a maid to clean up his office floor.
before cleaning up his floor we spin out of this workin' hell.

Reviewer: Edshugeo, The GodMoor - - January 9, 2006
Subject: This is cool!
But I can't make out some of the lyrics. Is there a web-page with the lyrics to this and Classified? I think I'd like to attempt to record a cover or two.